


Down and Out on the Red Carpet

by owlmoose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fic About Media, Friendship, Gen, Meta, The aftermath of the Battle of New York, background Thor/Jane, background Tony/Pepper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers get their invitations to the Hollywood premiere of <i>The Tower</i>, the big budget blockbuster about the Battle of New York. And Steve is not looking forward to it.</p>
<p>Written for the 2013 Mediavengers mini-bang, and featuring artwork by Lancinate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down and Out on the Red Carpet

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Battle of New York: Take 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/881056) by [nottonyharrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottonyharrison/pseuds/nottonyharrison). 



> This story is inspired by the [MediAvengers](http://mediavengers.com) project, specifically the series on the two movies being made about the Battle of New York. Artwork by [Lancinate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lancinate).
> 
> Many, many thanks to nottonyharrison for hosting the mini-bang! And super props to Lancinate, for the artwork and an early read, and to justira for the very helpful beta.
> 
> Given the timing, this story most likely set after the events of Captain America: Winter Soldier; however, I made no attempt to take what might happen in that film into account.

Steve picked up his mail on his way into the apartment, just like he did every time he made it back to Brooklyn. There wasn't usually much of interest in there: bills, notices, catalogs, the occasional fan letter. SHIELD would take care of all of it if he'd let them, but he'd opted out. Getting mail, paying his own bills, even throwing fliers and catalogs in the trash all made him feel more like a real person. Less like someone who didn't belong. 

"Why bother? Everyone uses autopay now," Agent Hill had said, but he'd stuck to his guns. What if one got missed? They'd probably charge him extra, or turn off his electricity or something. It wasn't that hard to write a few checks each month. 

He'd been gone for a couple of weeks, plenty of time for the mail to pile up. Still, this particular envelope stood out: it was almost square, made of a heavy cream-colored paper, and the text was actually engraved. Steve ran his thumb over the address to confirm, and sure enough, the letters were sunken into the paper. "Steven Rogers." That caught his eye, too, because about half of his unsolicited mail that attempted his full name spelled it wrong, and almost no one omitted the "Captain". 

He figured he knew what this was. 

Steve hitched his duffle higher up on his shoulder and shifted the pile of mail under his arm as he trotted up the three flights of stairs, then unlocked his apartment. Once inside, he slid the large square envelope to the bottom of the stack, then tossed it onto the table by the door. Nothing in there was urgent. He was happy to wait, for as long as he could possibly get away with it. 

-x- 

"So," Natasha asked, leaning back from the table after the next morning's debrief had broken up. "Did you get your invitation yet?" 

Steve grimaced. "How about you?" 

"Yep. About a week ago. So, was yours waiting for you?" 

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. Guess he wasn't going to get out of this one. "Yeah. Well, I assume that's what it is. I haven't opened it yet." 

"Oh, you should." Clint grinned across the table. "It's a work of art." 

"Now I'm even less interested." Steve pushed off the table's edge, and his chair rolled almost two feet backward. "This whole movie business..." He shook his head. "It really doesn't sit right." 

Natasha crossed her arms. "Then why did you spend two whole days hanging out with that actor?" 

"Jensen?" Steve asked, and Natasha nodded. "He's a good kid. Asked smart questions. And I guess... well, he's going to be in that movie no matter what I do. I had the opportunity to say my piece, and I thought it made sense to take it. But anyway, he's in the other movie, not this... thing." He snorted. "From what I hear, _The Tower_ is mostly an excuse to blow things up. Which is the exact opposite of what we tried to do when the Chitauri invaded." 

Natasha shrugged. "What can we do? It's Hollywood. And Fury wants us to go. As a gesture of goodwill, he said." Steve rolled his eyes, and she smiled. "It's not so bad. You can be my plus one." She raised her eyebrows, smile widening into a wicked grin. "Unless there's someone else you'd rather bring. In which case you are in big trouble for not telling me about her." 

"Plus one?" Steve felt a surge of alarm. "I have to bring a date?" 

"'Have to', he says." Natasha glanced at Clint, who shook his head as he stood up. "You do realize, Steve, that probably ninety percent of the girls who work here would faint dead away, then say yes." 

His first instinct was to blush and stammer a disclaimer, but he just raised his chin. "I can't show that kind of favoritism anyway." 

"Which is why you go with me. Give the gossip magazines something to write about." 

Steve dropped his head to the side and fixed her with a hard stare. "And why on earth should I do that?" 

Natasha shrugged. "Well, it's like you said before: they're going to do it anyway. Might as well tweak their noses a little bit when we can. C'mon, it'll be fun." 

He looked at her teasing eyes for a moment, then lifted a shoulder. "Maybe. Let me think about it." 

-x- 

That night, Steve didn't check his mailbox, and he also avoided the pile by the door. Instead, he made a beeline for the kitchen and dinner, then set his feet up on the coffee table with a Coke while he watched TV. It was his nightly ritual, and he felt no need to change it for the sake of a stupid invitation. 

But all through the evening news, and the sitcom that came on after, he knew he was only half watching. He sighed, clicked the TV off, and tossed the remote on the couch, then got up to go sort through the pile. Bills in one stack, junk in another; finally he got to the bottom, and the invitation. He carried it to the dining room table, tapping one edge against its hard surface, then another. Tap, tap, tap. It echoed in the empty room, like a dripping faucet. Or a radar signal. Steve set the envelope back on the table and looked at it again. The return address had Michael Bay's name on it, but he doubted the director had much to do with sending out premiere invitations. Probably some PR flunky had gotten his information from SHIELD. He might have to have a talk with Director Fury about who was allowed to know his home address. 

He stared at the invitation for another long moment, as if willing its contents to change. When they didn't, he picked up the envelope and slid his finger beneath the fold. The invite was a single sheet of heavy cream-colored card stock, emblazoned with the symbols Steve had come to know all too well: his shield, the arc reactor, an oversize hammer, a green strand of twisted DNA. The colors were all too bright, the images too large for the small text engraved in the center of the card in crisp black letters. 

"Come on out to the premiere of The Tower! Mann's Chinese Theater, Hollywood, California, November 17, 2014. You and a guest will hit the red carpet in your most super gear. Capes optional. RSVP requested." 

Steve snorted. The only Avenger who ever wore a cape was Thor, and there wasn't much chance of him showing up. He shuddered to think what the actor types would call an appropriate costume. But then, what was he going to wear? He tried to imagine showing up on the red carpet in the uniform, but the vision was too much like being back on stage, sweating under the spotlights, punching out Adolf Hitler while surrounded by girls in spangled miniskirts. 

"So it's back to the dancing monkey after all," he muttered. After another angry glance, he tossed the invitation aside, then turned out the light. Time for bed. 

-x- 

He took the invite into HQ the next day and marched straight into Director Fury's office. No appointment, but he knew Fury was in town today, and the secretary knew better than to refuse his determined expression. Too bad Fury himself wouldn't be cowed so easily. 

He took a seat next to the glass door and waited, invitation in his hands, and stared out the window at the New York skyline. It was a grim day, overcast, spitting rain. A nice contrast to this over-bright scrap of paper. He glared at it, then looked away out the window again, watching the rain patter into the East River until the office door opened. 

"'Morning, Cap." Fury closed the door behind him, Starbucks cup in hand. "I thought I might see you today, after what I heard from Agents Romanoff and Barton yesterday." 

Steve stood up, turning the invitation over and around in his hands. "Sir, I have to protest. I understand we can't keep anyone from making their movies, but actually showing up at the premiere? Giving our support, like it's a stamp of approval?" 

Fury spread his hands. "You know I hate preening for the crowds as much as anyone. But it's about image. After everything that's happened in the last couple of years, surely you can see that it's not a bad thing to give a little good PR." 

"I'm not convinced that rehabilitating SHIELD's image should be my top priority," Steve retorted. "And even if it were, how is this a good way to go about it?" He waved the invite, back and forth, as close to Fury's face as he thought he could get away with. "All the movie will do is remind everyone of the collateral damage we caused fighting the Chitauri. It'll make the public afraid of us again. And they might not be wrong." He leaned forward. "I'm not convinced you do hate preening for the crowds, Director. Especially if you don't have to do it yourself." 

Fury set down his coffee and fixed Steve with that look. The look that said "I'd like to charge you with insubordination, but you're a national hero and also you could beat me up six ways to Sunday before I even pulled my gun." That look. Steve had just enough respect for SHIELD's chain of command that the look usually worked, and today was no exception. "Captain. It's just one night out of your life. Go to Hollywood, smile for the cameras, and have a good time. After it's done, say whatever you want to the press about the film's appropriateness and quality. But you can make nice for one night. Understood?" 

Steve looked up, away, out the window to the clouded horizon. "Fine," he said, stuffing the invitation back into his satchel and storming out of the office, before he could say anything more he might regret. 

-x- 

"Come on, Cap, lighten up." Tony leaned back, tossing his arms open over the back of the couch. "It's only a movie. You know, moving pictures, projected on a screen? It's the hot new technology all the kids are raving about." 

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm familiar. Even been on the front side of the camera, a time or two." 

"Ah yes. You and my dad, side by side, wrapped up in American flags and punching out Nazis in the newsreels." Tony kicked his heels up on the coffee table; Pepper glared at him, and he shifted them onto a magazine -- an issue of GQ with his own face on the cover, next to three business magazines featuring Pepper. "How could I forget?" 

"We never-- that's not the point." Steve sat forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. "My stage tour and newsreel films raised money for the war effort. And then they shot footage while I was out on the battlefield, taking the fight to Hydra. This monstrosity..." He flung the invitation onto the coffee table, where it settled between Pepper's profile on Forbes and a New York Magazine featuring a smiling Mayor de Blasio. The mayor stood in front of New Grand Central, which had finally opened last month. Steve had attended the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Now that had been a media event worth his time. "People _died_. Thousands of them. And someone makes a big-screen blockbuster about it? All flashy and punched up with even more explosions? It's obscene." He gestured toward the invitation. "And now I'm supposed to show up with some.... flavor of the month on my arm and smile nice for the tabloids and talk about how honored I am?" He flopped back against the couch and flung his arms behind his head. "To hell with that." 

"There've been plenty of big-screen blockbusters about World War II," Tony said, but his tone was mild, without even a trace of the sarcasm Steve knew so well. He turned his head and saw Tony looking back at him, expression sober. "Steve, I get it. I do. No one remembers what we lost to the Chitauri better than me." 

"Yeah, I know." Steve let out a long, slow breath, deflating his anger, and shrunk more deeply into his seat. "Sorry." 

"It's how we understand things," Pepper said. "By making them into stories." Steve pulled himself out of the sofa back and turned to get a better look at her as she continued. "Maybe Michael Bay's story isn't the first one I would have told. But, well. At least it's not the only one we have." 

Tony stretched an arm around Pepper's shoulder. "Now there's the premiere I'm dreading. What a snoozefest." 

"Oh, God." Steve lightly rubbed his temples -- he hadn't gotten a headache in years, but if anything would bring one on.... "Will we have to attend that one, too?" 

Pepper nodded. "Afraid so. I heard from the publicist last week. They aren't doing a big Hollywood event; it'll be a smaller one, and here in New York, two weeks later. It's a fundraiser for the survivors, and they're inviting a few to attend. Along with the Avengers. It should be more subdued." 

"Sounds more my speed," Steve grumbled. "Can't I just go to that one, and skip the Hollywood hoopla?" 

"What's the matter, afraid you can't find two dates?" Tony cracked, and Steve shot him a dark glare. 

"You should find someone to go with," Pepper said. "I have some ideas--" 

"Natasha already suggested that the two of us attend the Tower premiere together," said Steve. "Just as friends," he added quickly on Pepper's raised eyebrow. "No, really, it's nothing like that." 

"Uh huh." Tony uncrossed his feet and crossed them again; this time, his heel landed on Steve's invitation. Maybe Tony's boots would tear the paper and Steve would have an excuse to throw the thing away. "You just keep telling yourself that." 

Steve decided not to argue. The more he protested, the less Tony would believe him. He stood up and pulled the invite out from beneath Tony's foot. "I guess there's no getting out of this, is there?" 

"Nope." Tony sat up straight and grinned at him. "Welcome to the downside of being a celebrity." 

"Are there any upsides?" Steve shot back. "Because I sure don't see any." 

Pepper smiled, more gently. "I agree with you," she said. "It would be a lot easier to get my work done if I didn't have to make public appearances or deal with the media, but--" She spread her hands. "It is what it is." 

"I suppose." Steve saluted Pepper with one finger. "Thanks for the coffee." 

"Sure. Oh, do you know what you're going to wear? And don't say a Captain America uniform. It's not that kind of event." 

"To be honest, I'm really glad to hear you say that," Steve said. "I don't really want to dust off the old Army dress uniform, not for this. I guess I could rent--" 

"Oh no. No no no." Tony got to his feet. "You should have your own tux. A couple, even." 

"He's right. I'm surprised you've gotten away without one so far," Pepper said. "I have an idea: find out what Natasha is wearing, and then I'll get you in with Tony's tailor." 

Steve nodded, then escaped to the elevator. Better to get out of here before he took out any more of his irritation on people who didn't deserve it. 

-x- 

Two weeks later, Steve found himself on a plane to Los Angeles. Tony's private jet, of course, with dressing rooms for the four of them. To his surprise, Thor had agreed to attend, bringing Jane Foster, but they would be meeting them there. Barton, the lucky duck, had gotten pulled onto a last-minute assignment; Banner had been unreachable for the last few months. So there would be four Avengers in attendance, plus Agent Hill and assorted dates. Steve's new tuxedo was pressed and ready: a simple black jacket and pants, in a classic cut that he could keep wearing for years. Also a white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, a dark silver bow tie with subtle blue polka dots, a matching cummerbund. Understated, a bit elegant. The exact opposite of the Captain America duds. He had to admit it worked on him. And he'd match well with Natasha in her-- 

His train of though was interrupted by a rap on the door. "Steve? You decent?" 

"Yeah," he called back, hastily finishing the buttons of his shirt and tucking the tails into his pants. He zipped up just as the door slid open to admit Natasha, who was already decked out in her slim black dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves, a silver and blue necklace, pearl earrings that matched Steve's button covers and cufflinks perfectly. The combination was striking with her red hair and pale skin, and he stepped back with a smile. "Looking good," he said. 

"You too," she replied with a sly grin, looking him up and down. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a tux before. Here, you need help with the tie?" Without waiting for an answer, she stepped up on tiptoe and knotted him up, her fingers working quickly over the satin. 

"You're good at this," he said. 

"Not my first time," she said, her half smile appearing, then vanishing. "There, you're all set. Just put on the jacket, and you're good to go." 

"As I'll ever be." He pulled the jacket off its hanger and slung it over his shoulders. 

Natasha tipped her head to the side. "Still unhappy about this whole movie thing?" 

"I've accepted it." He turned to face the mirror. "As much as I'm ever going to, anyway. But--" 

She brushed imaginary lint off his back. "But?" 

"I guess... I guess I don't mind so much the idea of an actor playing Captain America," Steve said, slowly. "If you want the truth, he was always a character someone else invented. But it is a little weird to think that there are actors out there pretending to be Steve Rogers." He stood and looked in the mirror, frowning. "Although sometimes I wonder whether Steve Rogers is also a character created by someone else." 

Natasha took a place at his side and laid a hand lightly on his arm. "The serum might have made you into a soldier," she said. "And I suppose some PR flack came up with the name 'Captain America'. But Steve Rogers, and everything Captain America came to stand for?" She let go of his arm to punch his bicep. "Nah. That's all you, Cap. There's only so much that image makers and handlers can do, y'know." She smiled at his reflection, and he had to force himself not to blush. "Now come on, let's get going." 

"We haven't landed yet, have we?" He turned to her with a grin. "Unless you want to parachute in." 

"Got your one-liner exit planned already?" She smiled back at him, and he felt a surge of gratitude for her friendship. "Fun as that would be, we wouldn't want to mess up your hair or anything. No, we're taking a limo from the airport. But we're landing soon, so we need to strap in." 

"Yes ma'am." Steve held out his elbow, and Natasha took it. "Lead the way." 

-x- 

Three limos awaited them at the Burbank airport: one for Tony and Pepper, one for the rest of their retinue, and one that Steve and Natasha shared with Thor and Jane. Thor looked oddly oversized, stuffed into the backseat of a limo, but also comfortable with Jane in the crook of his arm. He was the only Avenger in uniform, dressed in his formal armor, cape and all; Jane wore a silver sheath that looked great on her. "How was your flight?" she asked. 

"Probably not as exciting as yours," Steve replied, raising his champagne glass to her with a smile. Then he downed it as she laughed, wishing not for the first time today that he could feel more of its effects. If any event might be improved by the numbing properties of alcohol, it was this one. "I will say this for Tony Stark: when he's taking care of you, you travel in style. I'd much rather fly on his private plane than anything either SHIELD or the Army provides." 

Natasha snorted and looked out the window. "Try riding with the KGB sometime," she said, before taking another drink. "You might revise your standards." 

Thor shifted in his seat and looked thoughtfully at his bottle of beer before taking a drink. "Regardless, now we are here. I am most curious about this premiere, and what it will be like. Jane has now taken me to several of your motion pictures, but never have I seen one with this much pomp and ceremony." 

"We aren't going to the Mann Chinese to see a movie." Natasha slipped her feet out of her shoes and curled up in her corner. "The movie isn't the main attraction; the people are. We're going to see and be seen. Mostly the latter. This is about showing the world that the Avengers don't take themselves too seriously, that we don't think we're better than everyone else." She shot a look at Steve, and he raised an eyebrow back. "I know, I know. But it's about projecting the image. C'mon, you know a little something about image, don't you?" 

Steve shook his head and poured himself another glass. "You don't need to keep trying to convince me. I'm going, and I'll play nice. At least until the night is over." 

They rode in silence for most of trip, which took them down one of the large freeways that still gave Steve pause, then through the congested streets of Hollywood to the Chinese Theater. Steve had been here a few times in his chorus girl days, but the scene was completely different now: the glitz was gone, replaced by seedy storefronts and dirty streets, and then the theater itself had been largely swallowed up by a modern shopping mall. If that wasn't the perfect metaphor for what America had become, Steve wasn't sure what was. The limo got into a long line that crawled through the streets; even when the driver identified them and they were moved to a priority lane, it still took them almost half an hour to drive the last quarter mile to the theater. Steve could have walked there faster. Hell, even before the super-serum, he could have walked there faster. 

Finally the car stopped for real, the doors cracked open by two attendants, men in overblown blue, red, and green costumes. Natasha patted Steve's knee. "You ready?" 

"Only if you are," he said, and then he unfolded himself from the seat, holding his hand to help Natasha out. 

He took a deep breath, composed his face, and then turned around with a broad smile at the spectrum of bright lights: from the theater, from the overhang that protected them from the light fall of rain, from the hundreds and thousands of clicking cameras. Cries of "Captain", "Captain America", and "Steve" filled the air as he smiled his biggest, fakest smile and raised his hand in the air to acknowledge the crowd. Drawing Natasha's hand through his elbow, the two of them moved together down the red carpet, close enough to be friendly but no closer. Steve walked forward and did his best to ignore the flashbulbs, saving his smile and his wave for the people crowded into the stands, huddling under umbrellas, many of them brandishing signs with messages of hope and appreciation. These were the people he cared about, he realized: the ordinary folks who saw them as their protectors, not as cheap entertainment. To hell with Michael Bay, Nick Fury, SHIELD, the Hollywood gossip machine. He wouldn't walk this walk and play this part for them -- he'd do it for everyone else. For the ordinary people who would see this movie, and remember. 

As he held that thought in his mind, each step came a little more easily, and his smile loosened. By the time he and Natasha reached the gang of reporters halfway down the walkway, his smile was almost genuine. "Captain Rogers! Ms. Rushman!" A woman in a black dress with a giant microphone beamed at them as she rushed forward to catch them. A man shadowed her, video camera in hand. "Good evening, Captain Rogers. May I say that you and your date look stunning tonight." 

"Thanks," he replied. "I clean up okay, I guess. It's my colleague you should really be complimenting." He could feel Natasha rolling her eyes, and he suppressed a smile. 

The reporter -- from somewhere called E!, if her microphone was any indication -- bubbled on as she stepped aside, getting out of the camera's frame. "Are you excited to be here? What are your thoughts on the Tower?" 

Natasha shot Steve a quick quelling look; he attempted to reassure her by tapping his toes lightly against her foot. "I haven't seen the film yet, but I'm looking forward to it." Past the lie, the rest came more easily. "My hope is that it serves as a reminder to everyone that I, and the rest of the Avengers, are always out there, ready to protect and to serve the people of the world, no matter what threats the universe might pose." He leaned forward into the microphone. "If _The Tower_ helps even one person remember that and sleep more soundly at night, then I'm happy." 

The reporter nodded, then lowered the mike as she stepped on to the next. "Thor! Thor, over here!" Steve watched her for a second, then looked quickly at Natasha. 

She smiled up at him, shrugging. "It'll do," she said, just loudly enough for only him to hear. 

"Okay." He took another breath and faced forward, smiling at the next reporter as he finished up with Tony and Pepper, who wore matching outfits of red and black. "Then let's get the rest of this gauntlet run." 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart for Down and Out On The Red Carpet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091693) by [Lancinate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lancinate/pseuds/Lancinate)




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